Where Fantasies may Come...
by SSJ-Alhazred
Summary: When Alfred's jet runs out of fuel, Chris and Claire crash and find their host to be none other then Mr. Roarke at a resort called Fantasy Island.


Yep

Yep, 'nother weird crossover from me. This starts right after Code: Veronica ends.

The crossover is Fantasy Island, the new Fantasy Island, which in my opinion was absurdly under appreciated. But it's television; quality shows get cancelled all the time in favor of teenybopper horrors…

If you've never seen either Fantasy Island, don't worry; by the end you'll understand :)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Resident Evil, Fantasy Island, or At the Mountains of Madness. {I'm sorry, I couldn't resist that ^_^}

Where Fantasies may Come… 

By Alhazred

Madarab20@hotmail.net

Part 1 – Of Mountains and Madness

---

To say the book was engrossing would be an understatement. Roarke hadn't put it down all day. The printed word was rarely a snare that could capture Fantasy Island's host, but when it did…

Of course, Lovecraft's "At the Mountains of Madness" was right up Roarke's alley. His grin was like a permanent fixture on his face.

And then the guest forms flew out of the tube.

Roarke snapped his head in the direction of the tube before sighing and looking at his watch.

"Is it that time _already,_" he moaned, placing his bookmark and grabbing the forms. He glanced through them, registering each fantasy to mentally prepare.

"Wants people to think she's funny, that'll be funny all right. Wants to be an astronaut, wants… what the hell is _this _supposed to be?"

A pair of forms were totally blank. Not in the mood for weirdness, Roarke picked up the phone and dialed.

"Fisher, why do I have blank forms? What? They're what? They don't have enough what? No, I _didn't _get the information."

At that, a rolled up paper-stuffed folder blew out of the tube. The rubber band snapped as it landed on the desk, and it rolled out perfectly.

"Oh there it is. Why? No, I don't want these people to stay… no, _no _Fisher… I just want to read my book for… ohhh alright!"

Slamming the phone down, Roarke picked up the folder and skimmed.

"Hmmm… maybe this'll be interesting after all."

---

"So… where are we going anyway?"

Chris blinked. "You know I don't have a clue."

"How bout the Bahamas," Claire answered, leaning back in her seat. "I've had it up to here with snow."

"Agreed," Chris chuckled. "Oh… shit…"

"Oh shit," she echoed. "What is 'oh shit?' Can we have one trip where there is no 'oh shit?'"

But Chris couldn't find anything humorous about the problem. "We're almost out of fuel."

"We're _what_," his sister yelled, unable to believe their luck. Of course, it made sense, Alfred had flown the thing all the way to the Antarctic and there was no one around to refuel it.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Chris said to himself, his eyes glued to the fuel gauge. He was in the Air Force long enough to know how much farther several types of planes would fly depending on where the needle was.

And there wasn't enough for them to get anywhere, having been in the middle of nowhere in the first place.

---

"So, why don't you all follow my assistants here and we'll get you set up as soon as possible?"

Harry and Cal didn't move at first, not really knowing why Roarke was deviating from the norm. Roarke glanced from then to the guests and back, before noticing a small sparkle on the sky, a little over the horizon.

"Well then, snap to it fellows!"

He clapped his hands, degrading Harry and Cal's status as far as the guests were concerned, but also prompting them into action.

"Well, I guess I can get some reading in while I wait," the dark-suited host said to no one. A second later, he was sitting in a lawn chair and reading the book, neither items having even been on the dock.

Five minutes later, a fuel-deprived Harrier jet ditched into the water about thirty-five feet from the dock landing. It skidded a little before its inertia ran down, and being a heavy clunk of metal, the plane started to sink. Roarke didn't raise his eyes from the book as water splashed just short of him, or as the sinking plane's canopy popped and the two occupants jumped out and swam away.

They were good swimmers. Another two minutes and they had reached the dock. Roarke crouched down on the end, his book and lawn chair long gone.

"Ahh, Claire and Chris Redfield I presume," he happily chirped, extending his hand to whomever might take it first. He was met with a gun in the face.

"Who the hell are you, and where are we," Chris snarled, knowing that a total stranger on an unmapped island shouldn't know his name.

"Why, I'm the one who knows that that particular gun doesn't work when it's wet, Mr. Redfield," answered Roarke. He stood and slowly walked down the dock, the noise from air bubbles escaping the sinking Harrier and the clunking of the two new guests pulling themselves up filling the air.

Claire pulled her knife and held it behind her back, not totally certain she wouldn't need it.

"Oh, I'm sorry Ms. Redfield, I'm afraid weapons aren't allowed here."

Claire didn't expect a stunningly dressed woman to grab her knife from behind, especially because she was only a foot from the dock's edge.

"I'll just take these too."

She had snatched their guns and joined Roarke before they could realize what was happening. Claire found herself wondering why the woman didn't have one hell of a sunburn in the evening dress she was wearing underneath the tropical sun, and for that matter she wondered how they got into the tropics after flying for a half-hour.

Chris was getting more and more infuriated, but Roarke beat him to the next word.

"Well then, now that that's taken care of, allow me to welcome you to Fantasy Island. My name is Roarke, and I do hope you… find your stay comfortable, despite the obvious unplanned nature of it. Ariel, would you please show our guests to the waiting room?"

Roarke took the knife and pair of guns from her before walking off, literally into the bushes. "After all," he whispered to himself, "they deserve a rest, ha ha ha!"

---

"No, I'm afraid there's no transportation available until next week. We make it a point for guests to stay the full duration."

Chris and Claire were not happy. They were well aware that something was odd about the place but playing along was all they could do at the moment. With their luck it would be some secret Umbrella lab and they were to be whisked onto operating tables while they slept.

"Ah, there you are," Roarke said as he stepped out of his office, a pair of official looking forms in his hand. "Well then, I must apologize, as Ariel has probably told you, we have no transportation to the mainland in the middle of the week, you'll have to leave with the other guests in seven days."

"You mean we're stuck here," Claire started, but Roarke would not be interrupted.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. However, I'd like to compensate you. There isn't much I can give you, I'm afraid, but if you'll just fill out these forms here," he handed the papers to Chris, who in turn gave one to Claire, "I'll be glad to give you an official stay, with all the luxuries, mind you, for free."

Roarke briskly waked out of the lobby before they could ask him anything. Claire started reading over the form.

"Fantasy? You want me to tell you my fantasy? You're kidding, right," she asked.

"Well, there's a reason we're called Fantasy Island," Ariel replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Just fill it in hon, we'll take care of the rest."

She was half-expecting them to not fill out the forms, but they ended up doing so with an air of reluctance. She guessed they figured that if Roarke already knew who they were, there wasn't anything to lose.

"Ariel!"

Roarke dashed back inside, frantic. "Ariel! The astronaut! We forgot the astronaut!"

She gave him a look. He pointed to the ceiling profusely and muttered, almost as if he didn't want the uninvited guests to hear him. "He's up in space. Remember? Remember?! He needs the alien!"

Her eyes went wide. "Oh, crap!"

She ran out faster then Roarke had come in. The old man straightened his suit and, turning, picked up the forms from the desk as if nothing had happened.

"Do excuse that," he said as Chris and Claire continued staring. "Our schedule is so fixed we often fall into chaos when something unexpected happens."

Something on the forms made him smile, and he tucked them away into his pocket. "Well then. Cal! Harry!"

The Fantasy Island attendants arrived punctually.

"Would you mind showing the Redfields to their rooms? Give them something next to each other, I'm sure after their Antarctic ordeal they'd feel safer that way."

---

Claire was pleasantly surprised to find the dresser and closet in her room to be full of clothes. She hated being wet, and despite the climate, she wasn't going to sundry anytime soon. According to the clock on the nightstand, it was getting late anyway.

With that in mind, she hung her vest in the waning sun, put on new clothes, and grabbed a towel to dry her hair. A knock on the door didn't distract her much.

"Come in," she shouted through the towel. Assuming it was her brother, she didn't bother to pull the towel away from her face.

"I see you've settled in quite well," commented Roark.

Claire flung the towel down, startled and a little annoyed.

"Well, now then," Roarke continued. "Shall we start?"

"Start what?"

"Your fantasy, of course!"

For a minute Claire thought the old guy had a rather perverted tone to his voice. He'd get a surprise if his idea of 'fantasy' was X-rated, but to her own surprise, he turned around and started walking out.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Claire tied her hair up and followed him.

But on the outside was not the lush, tropical paradise they had crashed at. Rather, by walking out the door she ended up inside a normal looking house, with a normal climate. She was in the kitchen, and it looked like a pretty nice kitchen at that.

Laughter reached her ears from some other room, obviously from children. Claire tried to register all of this as she looked around. To one side were large sliding doors that opened onto a patio. One exit lead to the living room, another led up a set of stairs.

But Claire jumped back and yelled when she found a mirror. It sounded more like she had stubbed her toe; she couldn't get anything else out of her mouth.

Roarke just stood there unobtrusively as she realized that her age had increased dramatically. Her physical fitness hadn't waned, but her face and form were much more mature and her clothes were far less rebellious. By far the most bizarre change was a ring on her finger. When she actually looked at it, she realized it was a wedding band.

"Are we looking suitably normal?"

Claire continued to stare at herself. Roarke was in the mirror off to the side. "What?"

"What do you mean, 'what,'" he asked, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. "It says right here on your form, you want to have a normal life, so here you are! You're 29 years old, you have a family… all… perfectly… normal."

She turned. Roarke opted to walk out onto the patio and away from sight.

And at that exact moment, a pair of children ran in the kitchen from one side and out the other. Claire's gaze followed them; she was taking a long time to

"For the love of! Would you two stooooooo-SHIT!"

That had come from the living room, followed by a _thump. _Claire didn't want to admit the voice sounded familiar… it was deeper, but it sounded like…

She walked into the other room, and sure enough, an older Steve Burnside was picking himself up off the floor and rubbing his head.

---

"Well, now, Mr. Redfield, I suppose we can start on you now," Roarke smiled, walking into the next room. His smile instantly waned into a neutral expression when he saw that Chris had turned in early and hadn't heard a word he said.

"Well, how rude," he commented further, before rethinking his ideas. Roarke smiled once more and snapped his fingers.

Chris didn't see the flash of light.

He didn't see Roarke leave.

And he didn't see Albert Wesker leaning in the corner, patiently waiting for him to wake up.

---

NEXT: Of Heaven and Hell


End file.
